19
The Kuhn Homestead
Walter
Walter broke one of the muffins into pieces over the steaming stew on his plate. His first bite had been a big improvement over last night’s beans. If Fanny had lived on a boat for many years, she probably hadn’t cooked in a fireplace. He should have told her to put more water in next time. But maybe she had figured it out and put the extra water in tonight’s stewpot. The vegetables were nearly mush. He wouldn’t complain, though. It was nice having someone else do the cooking.
He stirred the chunks of cornmeal muffin into the vegetables. “Tomorrow, like today, I will plant corn. But on Thursday, a friend of mine—his name is Hugh Moore—will come and help me chink the barn.”
Her brown eyes widened. “It will only take a day to chink the barn?”
He chuckled. “It will take several days, and lots more clay from the creek, but we hope to at least get the gaps between the lowest logs filled. It will block the wind from bothering Carlotta, and little wild creatures will have a harder time getting in.” It would benefit him, too, since he was living out there temporarily.
She lifted a spoon of stew and blew on it. “Is there a way I can help with the barn? Or do you only want me to keep Annaliese out of the way?”
Since she’d told him how she liked being outdoors, he would feel guilty telling her she had to stay inside all day. Thank goodness he didn’t have to tell her so. “No, because you won’t be here.”
She drew back slightly, and a frown marred her forehead. “Where will I be?”
“In Gideon.”
She put down her spoon without taking the bite. “Walter, you aren’t making a great deal of sense.”
Of course he wasn’t. He’d never been good at talking with strangers, especially strange women. Not that Fanny was a stranger. Not anymore. Although she’d only been in his home a few days, he already trusted her. Maybe he even saw her as a friend. Or, at the least, Annaliese’s friend. His tiredness scattered his thoughts, making it hard to explain himself.
He set his spoon on the table and took a big breath. “Ever since I lost my wagon and horse”—he inwardly prayed she wouldn’t question how—“Hugh and his wife, Josephine, have taken me into town twice a month with them for shopping. While Hugh helps me on the barn Thursday, Josephine will take you shopping. So tomorrow I need you to look through the cellar, the food shelves, and the loft. Make a list of things you need for cooking and seeing to Annaliese’s or your own needs for the next two weeks.”
Her mouth fell open. “How am I to know what you need? I’ve never stocked shelves or…or bought things for a little girl. Or even for myself. I’m afraid I’ll request the wrong things and you’ll have to do without what’s needed for half a month before you go to town again.”
He hadn’t intended to frighten her. He knew how fear felt. He reached across the table and put his fingertips lightly over her fingertips, then quickly removed them. “Please don’t worry. Look in the tins and kegs and baskets. You’ll know what was stored there. If something is close to empty, write it down.”
“Like apples?”
Her level voice let him know she’d set aside her fear. “Yes. If we need apples, write it down. Write down flour and sugar and whatever else. Make a list. The mercantile owner and his wife know how much to send.”
She blew out a dainty breath, and a smile quavered on her lips. “All right. I can do that.”
“I know you can. And if there is something you need that wasn’t in…in Grete’s trunk…put it on the list.” He swallowed. She’d arrived wearing a dress and carrying only a small purse and a tin cup. There was much she must need. He wasn’t worried about the cost, but why hadn’t she packed her belongings before she set out for New York? “If the mercantile has it, add it to my account.”
Fanny
Was there no end to this man’s generosity? She’d only concluded her second day of working for Walter, and he was already treating her as if she mattered to him. What a kind man.
He toyed with the handle of his spoon. “Do you have any questions?”
She searched her mind for things she’d need to know. “What time will your friend come on Thursday?”
“Early. By eight in the morning, for sure.”
Walter ate breakfast closer to seven. The friend probably wouldn’t need to eat breakfast here at the cabin, but what about the men’s lunch? “Should I have a lunch prepared for you and him?”
He shrugged. “If it isn’t too much trouble.”
She’d have to scurry in the morning, but she wouldn’t complain. Not when he was being so unselfish with her. “It will probably be a cold lunch since I won’t be here to keep the fire stoked. I doubt you’ll want to leave your work to check on it.”
He chuckled, a sheepish sound. “You are right. A cold lunch will be fine. Thank you.”
He never failed to thank her for her efforts, even for those awful beans the other night. He would probably thank her for this stew, too, although she’d cooked nearly all the flavor out of the vegetables. His consideration reminded her of Enoch. Enoch and Walter were so different from Sloan, who’d rarely praised her. With each expression of gratitude, she felt as if more and more of her past life was sloughing away. She celebrated its departure.
They finished eating in silence—not the cloying silence she’d suffered in her little room, closed away from everyone else on the River Peacock, but a companionable silence.
Walter pushed his plate aside, leaned over and kissed Annaliese’s head, then stood. “Thank you for the supper.” An odd expression flitted across his face. He smoothed his beard with his fingers. “There is one thing more I would like you to do when you are in Gideon. Please go to the post office and ask if there are any letters for me.”
Sympathy rose in her breast. How impatient he must be for word concerning his new wife. Especially if she was a good cook. Would he be happy to send Fanny on her way? Probably. And she should be happy to go. So why did the thought hurt?
She forced a nod. “I will be sure to ask.”
His shoulders slumped, she presumed in relief. “Thank you.”
Fanny followed him to the door, then watched him stride to the barn. He still favored his right leg, but the limp wasn’t as noticeable as it had been. Still, she should make at least one more poultice. As long as she was here, she would do her best to make his life easier. If she went to the creek and gathered comfrey leaves, she could also pick more lamb’s quarter and maybe more wild onions. Foraging cost nothing except time. Wouldn’t Walter appreciate spending less on food stores? Tomorrow, after she finished mending the rips she’d found in the clothes, she would walk to the creek.
She turned toward the table, intending to clear the dishes, and her gaze landed on little Annaliese pushing a lump of carrot around in her bowl with her finger. She released a little huff of self-recrimination. How could she go to the creek with Annaliese? She dogged Fanny’s steps all over the cabin and yard, but she’d never make it all the way to the creek. And if Fanny carried her, she wouldn’t be able to tote the basket.
She crossed to the little girl and coiled a soft curl around her finger. “Well, my bonny hen, I suppose I’ll put my traipsing plans aside until your papa is home and can stay with you.” If he returned as late as he had this day, he wouldn’t approve of her going. Not during an hour when animals prowled.
She frowned. She needed those leaves. An idea seemed to drop from the ceiling and bop her on the head. Laughing, she scooped Annaliese from her chair. “Tomorrow after my chores, you and I will go to the creek, my bonny hen.”
Annaliese pulled Fanny’s hair, bucked, and squalled in protest. Fanny didn’t blame her. She was ready to shout in aggravation, too. How had Pazzy made carrying Baby Leona in a piece of cloth look so easy?
Fanny sat on the edge of the bed and untied the fabric she’d used to strap Annaliese on her back. Annaliese plopped onto her bottom, then crawled to the head of the bed and stared at Fanny, distrust in her big blue eyes.
Fanny sighed and tweaked one of Annaliese’s bare toes. “I’m sorry, wee one. I’m not trying to anger you. But unless I find a way to carry you and still have my hands free, we cannot go leaf gathering.”
She shook out the rough length of toweling and stared at it, envisioning the way Pazzy had crisscrossed it around Baby Leona and her own torso and shoulders. Fabric under the baby’s bottom, tails crossed in the front and looped over her shoulders and then crossed over the baby and tied in the front. But when Pazzy carried the pack on her back, she put Baby Leona in front. What if Fanny carried Annaliese in front of her? Would she be happier if she could see and touch Fanny’s face?
Fanny laid the fabric across her lap and then beckoned, “Come, my bonny hen. Sit on Nee’s lap.”
Annaliese took two wobbly steps on the lumpy mattress and flopped into Fanny’s arms. Fanny snuggled the little girl, laughing softly, then settled her straddle-legged on the cloth and performed the actions she’d viewed in her mind’s eye, talking all the while. “My, you’re a bonny hen, and Nee loves you very much. I don’t want to hurt you. I want you to be secure while we go traipsing to the creek.” She gave the tails of the cloth a firm yank, cupped her hand beneath Annaliese’s bottom, and stood, holding her breath.
The wrap held. Fanny’s breath released in a whoosh. She kissed Annaliese’s forehead. “Isn’t this nice? And look—I can use my hands!” She moved both arms up and down and smiled when Annaliese chortled and imitated her. “All right, now that you’re secure, let’s fetch the basket and we’ll go.”
With the basket handle hooked on her arm and Annaliese jabbering in her ear, Fanny set off beneath a sky heavily layered with big puffy clouds.
Walter had been right about the clouds holding back some of the heat. Although it was early afternoon, the mild temperature made for a pleasant walk. Everywhere she looked across the horizon, she saw green. Green grass, green leaves on bushes and trees. Varying shades of green that reminded her of the hillsides of her childhood home. Odd how two places so far apart resembled each other, but the sight made her less lonely for the place where she’d been born.
She topped a rise. Below, the large square of turned ground Walter had prepared for planting a crop created a dark-brown island in the sea of green. He was in the middle of the island, a plump bag slung over his shoulder and a thick stick in his hand. She paused and watched him thrust the end of the stick into the ground, drop a seed into the hole, smooth the spot with the toe of his boot, then take a step and repeat the motion.
Her heart rolled over in her chest. What a hardworking man he was to plant seeds over the entire expanse in such a way. She’d surmised he would scatter the seed the way Ma had done with flower seeds she harvested from dying plants, giving their cottage riotous color all spring and summer. But his planting was meticulous, intentional. And no doubt wearying. No wonder he’d seemed so tuckered when he returned to the cabin the other evening.
Seeing his efforts made her all the more determined to make the pain-relieving poultice and gather more lamb’s quarter and wild onions. He’d praised the addition of the greens in Sunday’s stewpot. He would enjoy them again at supper. A man who worked so hard needed a hot, hearty, tasty meal at the end of the day.
Annaliese bounced her heels against Fanny’s hip and babbled, “Fa, Fa, Fa!”
Walter stopped and lifted his gaze in their direction. A smile broke on his face. He waved to them, giving the action the full swing of his arm.
Fanny took Annaliese’s hand and helped her wave a reply.
His smile grew even brighter. He pushed back his hat and leaned on the stick. “Where are you off to?” He hollered the question.
Fanny cupped her hands over Annaliese’s ears before shouting, “To the creek. For comfrey leaves.”
He patted his knee and nodded. “Thank you.”
She nodded, too, then waved a goodbye and slowly descended the grass-covered rise, one arm wrapped around Annaliese. She couldn’t see her feet, and if she stumbled, she didn’t want to spill the baby or, worse, fall on her. On more level ground, she heaved a sigh of relief and grinned. “Here we are. Safe and sound.”
Annaliese babbled in response and laid her head on Fanny’s shoulder. Fanny put a quick kiss on the top of her curly head and strode off again, singing, “ ‘There was a man who lived in the moon…’ ”